


The Hidden Life

by incalescent



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incalescent/pseuds/incalescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between witnessing a murder and adjusting to life in a sleepy beach town, Quinn found that Mr. Schuester became just Will.<br/>Or, the hidden life is no better than one not lived at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Moving some works over from ff.net.  
> Very much a labor of love, so updates may be slow.  
> Many thanks to Evie.

"Thanks again for letting me in to the building, Mr. Schue," Quinn said as they both left the grounds of William McKinley High School. Quinn had visited the Glee club and a few of her high school teachers the day before, and had left her purse behind. It had been uncomfortable trying to explain to the school resource officer that she genuinely needed to get her purse back, especially considering she hadn't been a McKinley student for almost three years, until Mr. Schuester offered to escort her through the building. The officer had looked at them strangely, but Quinn brushed it off. The officer had been a little strange, anyway, but she just assumed the man was new.

"Any time, Quinn! I completely understand. I forget things all the time; you wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to drive back home to pick up tests I was grading or my lesson plans," he said sympathetically.

"All the same, I appreciate it." Quinn smiled at Mr. Schuester in gratitude and they continued to walk through the parking lot while Quinn told him about her experiences at college. She had passed up the larger public universities in favor of making a fresh start at the University of Dayton, a small Christian college where no one else knew the struggles she had endured in high school and where she was able to focus more on studying and delving into her faith again. It had been an incredible school for her, and she had grown so much in her time there. She had found a new group of friends who were just as accepting as her Glee family, and she was able to come home often and visit her family and occasionally even Beth and Shelby. Mr. Schuester listened attentively while she described the campus and the academics offered, as well as her major and plans for her future.

"Well, Quinn, I've said it before, but I'm still so proud of everything you've accomplished here and in Dayton. You look so much happier, and I look forward to seeing you go out and change the world. Don't be a stranger, okay? Keep in touch, you have my school email address if you need anything, and you're always welcome to come back and visit the club and see everyone," he said, his hand on her shoulder like a paternal figure. Quinn nodded and hugged him, and thanked him, once again, for everything he had done for her.

They had broken away from their embrace and were about to go their separate ways when they heard the first gunshot. They turned sharply, searching for the source of the loud noise Quinn had only ever heard come from a rifle. (When you're ten years old, and your father and his family take you hunting with them, and you see your Uncle Adam shoot Bambi's mother, and you're so traumatized you can't eat for three days, you tend to remember the sound.) Mr. Schuester moved so that he was blocking her body with his, in case the shooter was close. Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw movement, and she tugged on Mr. Schuester's arm and tried to point as discretely as possible to their right. About 30 yards away, in front of the school, she could see the new resource officer and a lunch lady standing close to each other, shouting. Apparently, the first shot had only been a warning, but from the shouting match between the two people, it seemed as if things were heating quickly.

Once again, Mr. Schuester stepped in front of her, as if determined to shield her with his body as much as he could.

"I don't understand," Quinn said. Why were two school employees even arguing like this in the first place? "What's even going on?"

"Quinn," Mr. Schuester said in a low voice, "now is not the time. We're going to back away from here slowly and get to my car. Do you see it? It's the green sedan. Once we get in there, we are going to call 911 and tell them what's going on. I need you to do that, okay?" He was struggling to get his breathing under control, and the words came out as if forced. Suddenly it dawned on Quinn that they were witnessing something far more serious than an altercation between two employees.

Fate was smiling on them that day, as they were able to scurry to Mr. Schuester's car completely unnoticed by the two adults arguing across the parking lot. After locking all the doors in the car, and even buckling their seatbelts, just in case, Quinn pulled her cell phone out with trembling fingers and dialed 911.

"911, please state your emergency," a soothing voice said on the line. Quinn opened her mouth, but found she was unable to speak. Wordlessly, she handed the phone to Mr. Schuester, who described the scene before them to the dispatcher. His voice was shaking. Halfway through his conversation, Quinn, who had tensely been watching the figures on the chance that they decided to come after her, saw the resource officer pull his gun, point at the lunch lady, and –

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see what inevitable had occurred. She faintly heard Mr. Schuester's voice.

"Oh my God," he said, close to tears.

"Mr. Schuester," Quinn said, trying to get his attention. When he continued to stare blankly ahead, she repeated his name. When she still received no response, she tried his first name. "Will!" He jumped and looked at her. The fear evident on his face made her even more afraid. "We need – we should go to the station. Tell them what happened." He nodded in response, and relayed to the emergency dispatcher that they were leaving the scene as they felt it necessary for survival. As Mr. Schuester raced out of the parking lot, Quinn took over with the emergency dispatcher and continued to speak with her, relaying the information of what had just occurred. After what seems like hours, Mr. Schuester pulled haphazardly into a parking space outside the station and they sprinted into the building, seeking sanctuary in the arms of Lady Justice.

Quinn wondered when she started thinking in such fanciful terms.

Once they explained the situation to the officers on duty, they were led away to have their statements taken, both together and separately to ensure accuracy and honesty. The officers seemed satisfied that they were, in fact, mere witnesses in what was probably a murder, and sent them back to the lobby of the station and gave them some coffee to calm them down. Quinn found this ironic, given that coffee was a stimulant and there hadn't been a fresh batch for quite some time, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.

Time at the station took much longer than she had expected. After describing the man who, as it turned out, was not a real resource officer, one of the officers on the force had sent over a sketch artist, which meant Quinn had to describe the man for a third time. It felt surreal, like her body was on autopilot, going through the motions of what the police needed. She spent most of the day in a daze until she realized she and Mr. Schuester had been stuck inside the poorly-designed building for almost six hours. And she really had to pee.

As she was contemplating sneaking away to use the restroom, a detective walked over to where she and Mr. Schuester sat, not speaking to each other for the past forty-five minutes. Her face was grave and Quinn had the sinking feeling that whatever news she was about to hear would not be good.

"Mr. Schuester, Miss Fabray, if you would please follow me, we need to discuss this case. I have some news."

They were led to a small room where it was likely that the officers and detectives took their breaks. Quinn snagged a glance at Mr. Schue, but he kept his expression perfectly neutral. She had no idea what to think except that this news couldn't possibly good.

The detective, who introduced herself as Anne, had pale blonde hair with dark brown eyes behind glasses. She carried herself with poise and something about her demanded respect beyond the badge and gun. Quinn felt a little reassured by the idea that the woman could protect her. She sat herself down across from them and started talking.

"We've been able to gain a lot of information in the past few hours about the man you saw. It turns out that some of our other detectives were already investigating a case linked to the man you saw. Carlos Gutierrez is a member of a strong cartel in Mexico and they've been sending members of their gang to various towns in the Midwest, trying to set up in the United States and spread their market and network."

Another detective walked in, presumably from the other case. He was older, probably in his fifties, and thin – although Quinn had a feeling he could take care of himself. He wore glasses and seemed to give off a vibe of cynicism.

"Drug gangs and cartels are almost more efficient than major corporations when it comes to marketing and networking," he noted wryly. Quinn caught Mr. Schuester's eye and could tell that even in this extreme circumstance he wanted to laugh at the joke as well.

"At any rate, there must have been a problem with one of the lower-level gang members here and Gutierrez decided to kill her. Which is where you come in. Not only are you eyewitnesses to the murder, but you actually spoke with him, making your account more solid, and since you can identify him, we can tie him to smuggling drugs and working with the gangs in the Midwestern area. This could potentially be a huge case."

Quinn sat completely still, letting the words sink in. There was something she could do for this woman. She could even help bring about justice. The idea appealed to her, but she knew from experience that there's always a catch.

"The only problem is that since you did communicate with Gutierrez, he knows who  _you_ are. He fled the scene before we could get to the school and no one seems to know where he is. Either his followers are very loyal or he just went completely underground. And that doesn't bode well for you. He could have gotten a message out to his comrades to put a hit on you. You're not safe in Lima. You're not safe in Ohio. The cartel's network is vast and there's no telling where you would be completely safe from them."

Quinn felt all of the blood rush out of her face. It was reasonably warm in the room, but she couldn't suppress her shivers.  _She_ _wasn_ _'_ _t_ _safe._ She was in danger and there was a chance she could  _die,_  or someone else she loved could suffer. It could be her best friend, or her mom, or ...

"Beth," she said aloud. Mr. Schue must have been able to follow her train of thought because he reached for her hand, which she grasped as if she were holding on for dear life. Her heart was racing. Her daughter couldn't suffer because of this. She would never forgive herself. Her heart clenched in her chest and she fought back sobs as she thought of the last time they'd seen each other. Beth was showing off how well she could ride her bike without the training wheels and she taught Quinn about butterflies. To have her baby's life snuffed out was too much.

The detectives were confused by her outburst, so Mr. Schuester decided to explain. "Miss Fabray had a child a few years ago. She gave her up for adoption, but still keeps in touch with her daughter and the adoptive mother. I think it would be prudent if they were protected in case the cartel was to try and threaten Beth's family."

Anne nodded sympathetically and the male detective walked out of the room to put together some sort of security detail for the Corcorans.

"Please rest assured, Miss Fabray, that your daughter will be protected. But things will be much easier for us if you both looked like you disappeared without a trace."

Ms. Schuester nodded somberly, but Quinn felt like she was in the dark.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Anne paused. "I think it's in your best interests if you enter the witness protection program."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on their ages - I did play around with Quinn and Will's ages to make the difference less extreme. Since I already view the characters more as the ages of the actors and Dianna and Matt have fewer years between them than Quinn and Will, I figured I'd roll with that and have Quinn at 22 and Will at around 30-ish, which would mean he was around 26 or so when he took over glee.  
> Again, many thanks to Evie.

US Marshall Scott Winters looked exactly like Christopher Meloni, and the thought was the only thing that kept Quinn calm during their placement.

Mr. Schue hardly looked at her throughout the process, and Quinn knew it was because he was as distressed about the circumstances as she was. She had cried the entire night before, and had managed to get at most two hours of sleep. Her whole world literally was turning upside down and she was completely powerless to stop it, and the worst part was she couldn't even begin to process the changes it would bring. She tried to comfort herself with a semblance of a routine this morning but it hadn't worked, since every time she even looked around her room or bathroom she found something that reminded her of her friends or family. There was the set of combs her mother had gotten her as a Christmas gift; there were the pictures of butterflies that Beth had drawn for her; there was a photo of her and her best friend and roommate Karen, in which they were at the beach and they were both laughing so hard that they were leaning on each other to keep from falling down.

She had absolutely no idea what to expect from the witness protection program, but she was willing to bet that she wouldn't be able to speak to any of the people she loved and who loved her for quite some time. The idea overwhelmed her and she wanted to burst into tears again; however, she kept the tears at bay so that she could listen and bravely face whatever US Marshall Winters was about to tell her. She had said her goodbyes the night before, and had tied up all her loose ends, and had packed her single suitcase (which ended up being mostly underwear since she had withdrawn a boatload of money and figured she'd spend it on clothes in her new environment) for her "new life."

The idea of even having a new life, of dropping everything and going somewhere as a completely different person, without any remnants of her previous life, scared the daylights out of her. She wasn't sure she would be able to take the isolation that came with the fresh start.

"After some deliberation with the detectives assigned to your case, we've decided on a location to place the two of you," Winters said, commanding both Quinn and Mr. Schuester's attention.

"Because of the widespread network of Gutierrez's cartel throughout the Midwest, Detective Larsson suggested to me," he paused, barely able to refrain from rolling his eyes, "that you be placed somewhere closer to the coast. We've been able to set you up in a community in southern coastal Georgia called Stowelee."

Quinn briefly looked over at Mr. Schue, to see what he thought of the arrangement. He had glanced over at her as well, but he merely seemed confused. Quinn guessed that he had never heard of the island before, either.

"We also anticipate this placement being longer than our average length of placement, because your case has the potential to bring down a powerful, active cartel. So we've been able to secure a small house for the two of you, as well as set you up with new bank accounts. You'll have to look for jobs for yourselves, although you'll have assistance in getting those jobs from one of our agents down there in Georgia – he'll get you references and openings to apply for."

Mr. Schuester raised a rand cautiously. "If you don't mind me asking, what should we do about degrees? I have one in accounting and I'm teaching certified, but it's all under my name right now."

Quinn raised an eyebrow in confusion. She didn't have a degree as Quinn Fabray; how was she supposed to get a fake degree?

"Once you arrive in Savannah, you'll meet US Marshall Cameron who will hand you your paperwork and legal documents including licenses, social security numbers, and the like. Will, like you've mentioned, you're an accountant with teaching certification. Quinn, you're free to pursue whatever interests you have, maybe even finish up your last few credits. Additionally, we've come up with aliases for you both. You will be Mr. And Mrs. Jack and Alyssa Montgomery."

Quinn tensed, and this time she didn't have to look at Mr. Schuester to know he must have had the same incredulous expression she had. Married? To the man who used to be her  _teacher?_  As if everything else in the environment wasn't already stressful enough. Why would they think that was okay?

Winters paused before continuing.

"I will tell your emergency contacts the same thing when I speak with them, but you cannot in any way, shape, or form, mention or even look at any reminders of your old lives. This mean no checking old email accounts, no using your old facebook accounts, no calling anyone from you old cell phone numbers.  _Do not tell anyone_ any details about your alias. Gutierrez and his subordinates are smart people. IP addresses can be traced, your family members can be watched. If they catch your friends reading a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, they'll be able to track down your location. If they notice any suspicious activity from phone calls, they can track you down. You can contact your close family and friends, but only from Marshall Cameron's office. You need to employ the utmost discretion."

Winters continued on about the details of their placement and the protocol they should follow. Quinn tried to pay attention, but she was still stuck on the idea that she would be pretending to be Mr. Schuester's  _wife_  for at least the next month. How did they even come to that idea? How was she going to live with a man that she didn't really even know? How would they convince people they were married?

This. Was.  _So._ Awkward.

Honestly, if Gutierrez himself came in and took her out right now, she'd be okay with it.

Quinn shook herself out of those worries when Winters handed her plane tickets and boarding passes. Winters would be escorting Mr. Schuester and her to the airport and would ensure that they boarded safely. They would switch flights in Atlanta and security would available to escort them, and they would arrive in Savannah in a few short hours and stay with US Marshall Cameron and his wife for a few days until they were settled in the house rented out for the two of them.

There was something incredibly uncomfortable about living with a man eight years your senior, especially when he used to be your teacher.

Winters gave them a few minutes to talk to each other and to get water, use the restroom, etc, before they would drive to the airport in Columbus.

Quinn cleared her throat before awkwardly turning to Mr. Schuester.

"Mr. Schue, how are we going to get out of being married?" she asked, shifting and looking over his shoulder. "How is that even going to work?"

Mr. Schuester sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Here's the deal, Quinn. I'm going to do whatever I need to do to keep us safe and under the radar. I know it's going to be ...  _difficult_  … but we can do this, okay? We'll work something out," he said softly. Quinn was about to respond when a member of the witness protection program came in to the room, to deliver them wedding bands. Quinn numbly took the proffered ring and slid it on her finger quickly.

It wasn't much; it was hardly something you would call glamorous. It was a gold band with a few crystals on the top (Quinn doubted that they were real diamonds) and a wavy line of gold between the crystals. It was an unassuming, inoffensive piece of jewelry, but something about the way it looked on her finger made this situation entirely too real. She wouldn't just be playing house; she would be hiding from people who wanted to kill her to stop her from helping deliver justice. She would be unsafe for God knew how long unless she became an entirely different person.

To be perfectly honest, she wasn't sure if she would be able to deal with it.

She could feel her eyes brimming with tears and a lump forming in her throat, and she slowly breathed in and out while counting to ten.

She snuck a look at Mr. Schue again, and saw that he was eyeing the ring on her finger warily. Somehow he caught her eye and neither of them spoke for a moment.

"It's just…it's so  _real_  now," she said quietly. Mr. Schue nodded in response, and she could tell he was just as freaked out as she was.

They had so much they needed to discuss, to talk about, but there was no good place or time.

They remained quiet on the drive to the Columbus airport and barely spoke while they were going through security. They hardly interacted at all before boarding their plane, and they both slept during their flight. It wasn't until Atlanta when they spoke to each other, when Quinn had a mild panic attack.

They were moving across the airport, from one terminal to the other, when Quinn realized she had seen the same man walk about twenty feet behind her and Mr. Schue several times throughout their trek across Hartsfield-Jackson International. She began to feel uneasy, and when it appeared that he had continued to follow them, even when Quinn suggested side stops and detours to Mr. Schuester, the panic set in.

Could it be that the cartel had found them? Would all of their efforts to escape Lima be foiled only a few hundred miles from their hiding place? Her heart had started beating faster, and she tugged on Mr. Schuester's arm and whispered that she was afraid they were being followed. He gripped her hand tightly and they walked as fast as they could without actually running, to the nearest security station. Mr. Schuester briefly explained their fears to the security personnel, who had been informed that he and Quinn were in a delicate situation. Quinn stood next to him, still holding his hand, with tears in her eyes. An officer quickly found the man described and sat down and questioned him. In the meantime, another officer escorted them to the right terminal.

Once there, all of the stress of the past few days finally hit Quinn, and she felt like her world was turning upside down. She could feel her heart racing, and her hands were tingling, and she couldn't breathe, no matter how hard she tried. She felt like all of the blood in her body was rushing to her face and her legs felt like jelly and all she wanted was to be able to breathe and –

"Quinn!" Mr. Schuester exclaimed. "Quinn, you're panicking. Breathe slowly, okay?"

Quinn nodded and tried to slow down her breathing, but couldn't. Mr. Schue helped her to a seat, and showed her how to sit to get through the panic attack.

"Just like that. Keep your head by your knees and breathe in and out," he said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. After a few moments of struggle, Quinn was finally able to relax, and sat back up.

"Thank you," she said softly, embarrassed that she had lost composure.

"Well, you know, I've got to take care of my wife," he said lightly, trying to joke about the situation and diffuse any tension. Quinn merely stared at him blankly.

"Too soon?"

Quinn started laughing, but Mr. Schuester's own smile faded when her laughter took on a hysterical note.

"Quinn, you have to calm down," he said, concerned.

Suddenly she was crying. "That's not even my name anymore!" she wailed. It dawned on Mr. Schue why exactly Quinn was so distressed, and he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to calm her down. She continued sobbing into his collar (and she was pretty sure she was getting snot all over his shirt) and he tried to comfort her by slightly rubbing her back. She vaguely heard him tell someone that she was fine; she must have drawn attention with her outburst.

"I know this is scary. Hell, I'm scared out of my mind. But we're in this together, alright? We'll look out for each other. I won't let anything happen to you, you know that." Quinn sat up, wiped the last few tears out of her eyes, and nodded at him in understanding.

"Would – would it be okay if I held your hand?" she asked timidly, inwardly berating herself for be so awkward. Mr. Schuester, for his part, looked surprised, but offered her his hand. She slid her fingers through his and they both sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting area, with Quinn leaning slightly on Mr. Schuester.

Eventually, their flight was called and they got in line to board the plane, to move forward and leave their old selves behind, and to become Jack and Alyssa Montgomery.

The idea was terrifying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Evie.

David and Lindsey Cameron were not what Quinn was expecting. From her encounter with Marshall Winters, she had assumed that every US Marshall would be as intimidating and serious. But the Camerons greeted Mr. Schue and her with friendly smiles and grabbed their bags for them.

David Cameron had held his hand out for a handshake for the both of them, and Lindsey Cameron greeted them warmly, hugging Quinn.

"I can only imagine how stressful the day must have been for you," she said lowly. Quinn gave a small nod in response, remembering to use the manners instilled in her from years of etiquette classes.

"Well, David and I thought it would be nice to take you out for a nice meal before we settle in, y'all must be starving and I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook."

"Dinner would be nice," Mr. Schue said, "if it's not too much of a bother."

"Of course not," David Cameron said firmly. "It would be our pleasure."

The Camerons took them to a restaurant in the heart of Savannah that boasted the best seafood in all of Georgia. While Quinn hadn't been able to make much of a comparison, she conceded that the seafood here was infinitely better than the seafood in Ohio. As they made small talk about sports, their various interests, and current events, Quinn felt herself actually relaxing, her shoulders finally loosening from the uptight position she hadn't even realized she was in. Even Mr. Schuester seemed to have calmed some, his brow not quite so furrowed anymore. It was a huge relief to feel at peace for even a few hours, and Quinn greatly appreciated the lengths the Camerons went to make them feel comfortable.

The couple was younger than Winters; in fact, they seemed to be closer to Mr. Schue's age. They had been married for ten years and had met when they were in college. David was a US Marshall and Lindsey was finishing up medical school. As they explained on the drive to the restaurant, Quinn and Mr. Schuester were the second assignment they'd had from the witness protection program.

The Camerons also offered to take them to a 24-hour Target for clothes for the next week or so, enough for them to settle in without stressing about laundry. Lindsey seized the opportunity to help Quinn shop, explaining that she used to help her sisters buy clothes when they were growing up and she rarely got the occasion to shop with someone anymore. They chatted as Quinn browsed tee shirts and shorts.

"So,  _Alyssa_ ," Lindsey said using Quinn's new name, when they were both sure that no one was around to overhear their conversation, and even then speaking quietly, "how long have you and 'Jack' been married?"

Quinn cringed, putting down the cardigan she had been considering. She still had no idea how they were going to convince people they were a couple, considering she had difficulty looking Mr. Schue in the eye at times and they had hardly spoken since boarding the plane in Atlanta.

"Actually, we're not married," she replied simply.

"Oh, well then how long have you been together?"

"We're … not. Actually, he was my teacher in high school. There just aren't many years between us." She felt her face flushing and knew she was probably turning red, and looked down awkwardly.

"Oh," was all Lindsey said. "Well that's…"

"Awkward, I know," Quinn finished for her, deciding to go ahead and buy a pair of cotton shorts. "I guess we'll just figure it out later tonight."

Lindsey put an arm around Quinn and hugged her, nodding in agreement. They continued shopping in companionable silence, until Quinn had selected enough clothing for Lindsey to be satisfied. They went ahead and picked up other necessities, like toothpaste and shampoo, because it never hurt to be prepared. When Lindsey asked if there was anything else Quinn needed, she hesitated momentarily before asking for hair dye.

During the last bit of her flight, Quinn had devised a plan. If someone was really after her, she wasn't going to make it easy for them to find her. She had curled up as best as she could on her seat, pulled out a pen, and wrote a few ideas on the bag of the motion sickness bag. She racked her brains, thinking of any movies or books she had watched or read about the Witness Protection Program, but all she could remember was the Mary-Kate and Ashley movie  _Our Lips Are Sealed_ , and she didn't think that was very realistic.

She would, of course, follow US Marshall Winters' guidelines when it came to communication. It wouldn't be terribly difficult, considering that she hardly spoke to her mother and she was on summer vacation so most of her friends and acquaintances wouldn't think anything of her flying under the radar for a while. The only people she had any desire to keep in contact with were Karen, her sister Frannie, and Shelby to hear that Beth was okay. Both Karen and Frannie were aware of her entire predicament, and Shelby knew that she had to leave for a while for safety reasons. So there were only three contacts to worry about.

She would start up new email accounts and such for work purposes, because she would be damned if she had to stay cooped up in a room all day hiding out from outlaws. She would go crazy from the worry.

She was going to be a whole new Quinn – well, actually, a whole new Alyssa. Goodbye, trendy clothes; hello, wardrobe appropriate for a kindergarten teacher. Goodbye, blonde hair; hello, red.

Which is how she found herself with her head over the sink of the Camerons' bathroom, while Lindsey was washing the last of the dye out of her hair.

Lindsey had seemed doubtful of the idea at first, asking Quinn to spare what she called her beautiful blonde hair, but when Quinn explained it would help her feel better, she conceded to the request. And if Quinn was allowed to brag, she thought the end result was excellent.

"Alright, are you ready to introduce Alyssa Montgomery to the men?" Lindsey asked after blow-drying her hair. Quinn nodded in excitement, and they walked out to the kitchen where David and Mr. Schue were discussing something in the paper.

"Ta-da!" Quinn exclaimed, not feeling the least bit foolish. The men looked over, and she twirled around so they could see the change.

"Wow, you look fantastic! I almost didn't recognize you," David said with a wink. Quinn smiled and was grateful for his reassurance.

Mr. Schuester paused, and Quinn felt very much like she was under a microscope. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably for reasons of which she was unsure.

"You look beautiful, Quinn," he smiled softly, and she flushed again, awkwardly tucking a strand of dark red hair behind her ear.

"Well, David and I are going to go ahead and prepare your rooms for you, right, David?" Lindsey interjected. When David gave her a confused look, she tilted her head in the direction of the guest rooms, and he followed after her.

Quinn and Mr. Schuester continued to face each other without actually looking at the other person.

Mr. Schuester cleared his throat. "I, um, I asked Lindsey to give us a moment. She said you were feeling uncomfortable about things, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and address them, if you wanted to?"

He was looking so sincere, and he was trying to make things easier between them, and Quinn couldn't help but blurt out, "I don't know how to be married to you."

There was an awkward silence and Quinn went ahead and started counting the seconds of silences. She was well within four digits when she decided to try and start over.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schue - "

"You know, now might be an acceptable time to start calling me Will. Or, you know, Jack," he said wryly.

"I've just never been around you outside of a school setting. Ever. And I don't really know you, and this whole thing just really freaks me out."

"It kind of freaks me out too," he admitted.

"I still see you as my teacher."

"And I still see you as my student." They paused again and he let out a sigh. He pulled out the chair next to him and motioned for her to sit.

"Maybe it would help if we decided on some sort of cover? To get a better idea of what our aliases are like," he suggested.

"That sounds like a good idea," she replied.

"Okay, start with the obvious. Why are we here?" They both thought for a minute, thinking of plausible explanations.

"I've got an idea," Quinn said. "You're older than me, and my parents weren't too thrilled about us, so we moved away to get some distance."

"That's pretty excellent." He was smiling, and Quinn felt more at ease. "And it explains why we don't keep in touch with our families."

"So that's one question down. How long should we have been married?" Quinn continued.

"I would think not very long. I don't want to look like a cradle snatcher."

Without meaning to, Quinn let out a laugh, and even Mr. Schue – well, Will, really, but it still felt weird to say – let out a grin.

"I don't blame you," she said in reply. "So maybe like a year?"

"That's perfectly fine with me," he said.

As they continued talking, Quinn noticed that Lindsey was walking by the kitchen, hovering by the doorway. She was probably listening in on the conversation, and when Quinn caught her eye, she gave a sheepish grin. Quinn just smiled and shook her head, and Lindsey gave her a thumb's up in response.

They continued to talk for another hour, about this new life, and when they went to bed Quinn felt more prepared to face the next day, which was more than she could have asked for.

The next day passed in a blur, much like the previous one. Quinn at times felt like it couldn't have only been mere days since she was an average college student – it seemed as if this ordeal had been years.

While Mr. Schue and David went out on a job hunt (through David's connections and possibly less than legal endeavors), Lindsey and Quinn searched through real estate ads until they agreed upon a selection of five homes. All of the homes were in the price range and fit Mr. Schue's and her basic needs – two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, etc.

To be perfectly honest, Quinn didn't think any house would change the fact that she was living her against her wishes with a man she barely knew, in a place she'd never been, in one of the most miserable predicaments. No floor pattern would change her feelings about being completely cut off from everyone she loved.

Lindsey tried to get her excited about house-hunting, and Quinn gave her credit for her enthusiasm, but at times she wished she could just go home, curl up in her bed, and sleep until the whole trial was over and Gutierrez and his crew were put behind bars.

They looked at the houses and walked through, examining not just the house but the property around it and the neighborhood in which it was located. Quinn didn't pay much attention, but Lindsey remembered to ask about details like appliances and when it was most recently updated and fire codes. After they had seen all the houses once, they went back to the third house on the list; it was the only one that made Quinn seem the slightest bit enthusiastic. Lindsey asked the realtor if they were able to tour the house and he kindly obliged, escorting them around the home.

"What brings you to this house?" he asked genially at the end of the tour.

"Oh, we transferred from Ohio," Lindsey said lightly, putting an arm around Quinn, who was staring pointedly at the ground.

"Well, I want to let you know that this community is very accepting and welcoming to all kinds of people, so you should feel at home here."

"Oh – oh,  _we're_ not together," Quinn said quickly. "I'm a, um, family friend of hers. My husband's away at the moment." She paused, surprised by how easily she was able to lie to someone and weirded out by the way the word husband felt in her mouth. It was not a word she had used often, especially not in reference to herself.

Lindsey seemed surprised as well, for she had stared at Quinn for a moment before collecting herself and telling the realtor that it seemed like the perfect option for her friend Alyssa.

Later in the car once papers were drawn up to be signed within the next 24 hours, Lindsey teased Quinn about the man assuming they were lesbians, and they giggled about the day's events. As their conversation died down, Quinn realized she recognized the song on the radio. It was unusal to hear, since it had been released years ago, but "Keep Holdin' On" was making its way through the airwaves from some soft-rock station.

It was the first real song she had sung with the Glee Club, and she remembered how much it meant to hear Finn and Rachel singing their support for her right after she found out she was pregnant. It had, surprisingly, brought her comfort in a time of distress, and hearing the song now was soothing. She leaned back against the headrest and looked out the window.

"Everything alright?" Lindsey asked, glancing over.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I was just thinking … you know, about my old life."

"Well, I want you to know that I won't stop being there for you once you move. My job is to help you guys and I'll be around to help y'all out until you go home for good. So you need anything at all, even if it's just that you're feeling lonely and you want someone to talk to, you call me, okay?"

Lindsey's unexpected kind words caused a lump to form in Quinn's throat. She didn't say anything, but she took Lindsey's proffered hand and squeezed it.

"Thank you for everything," Quinn said sincerely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Evie.

"Well, I think that's the last of it," Will called out to Quinn as he set down a box on their kitchen table.

She had tried to refer to him as Mr. Schue, but he'd catch her with this awkward look every time, so she decided to comply with his request to be on a first-name basis. Truth be told, she kind of liked using first names; it was an equalizer.

"Awesome!" she heard Lindsey say. "What should we start unpacking first?"

"Well, maybe it would be a good idea to rearrange the furniture. It's so hard to move around in here," David said as Quinn walked back into the main room.

In the nick of time David had been able to secure some furniture for the house they were renting. It had come with the basics, such as a kitchen table and a couch and a bed in the bedroom, but all of the little items that made a house a home were noticeably absent.

It further drove the point home, Quinn thought, that this was only temporary dwelling place and not a real home.

Will and David went to work on shifting the furniture in the living area and dining room around to open up more space, while Quinn and Lindsey unpacked dishes and other kitchenware and set about putting them in their proper places. After a few hours of rearranging the couches that Quinn personally thought had seen better days and of putting utensils in her cabinet drawers (and plates in the cabinets, and groceries in the fridge, and curtains up in the dining room…) she felt that they'd made some pretty good progress. Enough so, that after a brief break where everyone threw themselves on the couches, David and Lindsey excused themselves and went home.

"I'm sorry, I would stay and help y'all out longer, but I've got to get to class soon," Lindsey said apologetically and she and David made their way to the front door.

"I'll call to schedule a check-in in a few days with you guys," he said, shaking their hands. "Just to see how everything's going, give you any updates, the usual."

Lindsey scooped Quinn up into a tight hug, which Quinn returned with equal fervor. They hadn't known each other long, but Lindsey had made Quinn feel safe and at home, which was something for which she would be eternally grateful. Her transition to Stowelee and southern Georgia in general would have been a lot more difficult without her.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Lindsey asked. Quinn nodded in response. "I'll call you soon to see how you're settling in, and see if I can't find any cute odds and ends for this place. If you need anything, you know where to find me," she said, smiling warmly.

Quinn felt a lump forming in her throat and wondered at the attachment she had formed to someone she had only known a few days. It wasn't as if she had never received any kindness from another person; in fact, she was forever indebted to Mercedes Jones for her kindness and hospitality during her pregnancy with Beth. Nevertheless, the pure kindness from Lindsey was surprising and much appreciated.

Before she knew it, she and Will were watching the Camerons drive away and suddenly it was just the two of them again and she didn't know how to handle it.

Quinn started to panic as the same thoughts ran through her mind over and over again. They were alone, in a house that was hardly theirs, with strange surroundings, and they only knew each other, and they were supposed to be husband and wife, for Christ's sake! There was no way she could pull this off and to be completely honest, there was a part of her that didn't even want to try.

She was only 22. Why did she have to grow up so quickly?

Will cleared his throat and turned to Quinn, as if to say something, but she cut him off.

"I, uh, have to go unpack my clothes. I figured I'd just take a drawer or two in the main bedroom," she said, scurrying past him in haste to get away from what would undoubtedly be another awkward conversation that she was really hoping could be put off until later in the day.

"Okay…" Will replied, trailing off. "Do you want me to do anything?"

"No, I've got it," she called as she took the last few steps to the bedroom.

She took her sweet time unpacking the clothes that she had brought with her from Ohio and the clothes she had bought with Lindsey. She had propped her suitcase on the edge of the bed that, to an outsider, she would be sharing with Will, and started to sift through her clothing, sorting her underwear and shirts and pants and such so she could fit them neatly into the dresser sitting against the wall. As she cleared through her belongings, the familiar scent of her home that had lingered on her clothing surrounded her and she was, once again, hit with a wave of homesickness. Her mood worsened when her suitcase toppled off of the edge of the mattress where it was perched, and her personal belongings scattered about, including her picture of Beth and a drawing that Beth made for Quinn's birthday last year that said "I love you." She didn't get to see her biological daughter often, and although she knew that Beth's and her lives her better off because of the adoption, it didn't change the fact that she cared about the little girl.

She carefully picked up the pictures and placed them in the crease of the mirror frame that sat upon the dresser.

Already struggling to maintain her composure, the final straw came when she realized they had no hangers to use to hang up her clothes.

_This isn't a home,_ she thought to herself.  _This is a prison sentence! I can't live here with someone I barely know, in this place I can barely stand, without even some Goddamn hangers!_

This minor problem, which ordinarily was just a small annoyance, set Quinn off in the way that little things can only do when there are already other stressors, and she promptly burst into tears.

Will cautiously walked into the room not thirty seconds later, and if she weren't so distressed she would have laughed at the look of confusion on his face. As it was, she was barely managing to contain her sobs.

"Quinn? What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"We don't even have hangers!" she exclaimed. His brows knit in confusion, until it dawned on him that this wasn't the real problem. He awkwardly sat down next to her by the foot of the bed and gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I, uh, picked up some hangers the other day when we went to the store. You can use some of mine until you can go pick up more," he offered once her crying had diminished to a few sniffles.

"Thanks," she said, taking his offered tissue and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry," she laughed helplessly, "I'm not usually this emotional, it's just..."

"A lot to take in," he finished for her. He stood up and gave her time to collect herself, and he wandered over to the dresser. She followed and stood next to him, the two of them staring at the pictures in the mirror.

"Wow, baby Beth got so big," Will noted. Quinn nodded in agreement.

"She's a beautiful little girl," Quinn said, admiring the photo in which she and a six-year-old Beth were posing by Shelby's pool.

"She looks just like you." The  _of course she's beautiful_ was left unsaid.

When the familiar wrench in Quinn's insides became too uncomfortable to bear, she slipped out of the room, telling Will she would try and make some dinner while he unpacked.

Their options were limited to what was in the fridge and could be put in the oven on a baking sheet, so Quinn ended up making a salad and a frozen pizza. Surprisingly, she found the slicing and dicing of vegetables cathartic and got lost in her thoughts as she prepared the meal.

Preparing dinner went smoothly except for one instance; Will had walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and when he reached around her to open up the cabinet his arm accidentally brushed against hers and heat flooded her face as she realized that he was  _right_ behind her. When he muttered an apology, she simply nodded her head, afraid to speak.

They ate dinner in relative silence, with most of their conversation consisting of Will explaining that he would be gone for a few hours tomorrow for job interviews. Quinn told him about her decision to try and work somewhere on the island, maybe as a waitress somewhere.

He cleared the table and washed the dishes, keeping the work even, Quinn guessed. For a lack of having anything better to do, Quinn stayed in the dining room and looked, really looked, around at her new house. It wasn't a bad place, really. Aside from the furniture that she didn't particularly care for, the walls were a light orange color that brought warmth to the room in the living area. The walls in the dining area were a cream color and instead of being washed out, they contrasted nicely with the dark wood of the dining table and chairs. There was a small bookcase that was empty at the moment, but could look nice with some books or pictures in it.

It wasn't a bad house, and it was by far the best from the selection that she had reviewed with Lindsey. But that didn't mean that it was a home by any means. She wouldn't walk in and see Karen sitting at her desk sketching various designs for her fashion portfolio, and she wouldn't be able to go next door and take care of Mrs. O'Grady's cat Sprinkles, and she wouldn't be able to sing in the shower. She wouldn't be able to look up at her ceiling and stare at the glow-in-the-dark constellations left behind by a previous tenant.

Will walked into the dining room and cleared his throat nervously, snapping Quinn out of her reverie.

"I thought that I'd sleep on the couch tonight since there's only one bed. I'll get some blankets and stay out here for now," he said quietly.

"No, you shouldn't have to; I'm smaller and younger and I'd be completely fine with taking the couch," she tried to protest, but despite her objections he wouldn't listen to her.

"It's fine. It's only for a few days until we can buy a cheap bedframe and a mattress. I can tough it out until then." She knew he was claiming the sofa to be considerate, but it just made Quinn feel horribly guilty. He'd sacrificed so much as well; he'd left behind all of his family and friends, and his job, to have to start over with her of all people. Taking the bed just seemed like one more slight against him.

"But, um, before you head to bed I need to shower, so would you mind giving me fifteen minutes?"

"Not at all," she said, surprised that he would even feel he had to ask. "I'll just… stay out here."

He eyed her strangely but went ahead and showered anyway. Quinn idly leafed through an old magazine that had been left in the house, and glanced back up at Will when he returned, wearing shorts and a tee shirt and carrying with him some blankets and a pillow. Quinn's mouth went a little dry.

"The room's all yours," he said, walking past her to the sofa and laying out a sheet on the cushions. "I hope you don't mind, I put away a few of my things in the medicine cabinet."

Quinn struggled to find her voice. "That's, uh, that's totally fine," she said with a vigorous nod of her head that she felt embarrassed about immediately. "Goodnight, I guess."

Will gave her a soft look. "Goodnight, Quinn. I'll see you in the morning. And it's my turn to cook – so expect some pancakes."

Quinn smiled in response, when a thought struck her.

"How long do you think we'll be here?" she asked quietly, looking down at her hands.

Will paused and appeared deep in thought.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "We'll just take it one day at a time, that's all."

She slowly left the room and walked into her new bedroom – or what should really have been  _their_ bedroom, of which the thought was enough to freak her out. She changed into her pajamas, suddenly exhausted, and laid under the bedcovers. However, she found that no matter what she did, she couldn't get comfortable in the bed. She tossed and turned, staring up at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity before she finally drifted off to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, maybe thanks to Evie for being my cheerleader for this work.

They settle into a pattern of walking on eggshells in circles around each other. Quinn wakes up precisely forty-five minutes before Will so that she can shower and dress without him accidentally walking in on her and creating an awkward moment that would be nearly impossible to laugh off. By the time she's done dressing and styling her hair, he's just waking up and heading to the bathroom to get ready for work. In the meantime, she makes tea (because she can't stand coffee – when she was pregnant with Beth she felt nauseous every time she smelled coffee and she developed an aversion to it as such) and settles down with the local paper and a piece of fruit for breakfast.

She's not sure what it is that she's looking for as she scours the headlines. If she had to guess, she would say it was any headlines that seemed to be out of the ordinary, something that might mean danger for her.

She's usually washing her dishes and cleaning up her mess when Will walks through, grabs a thermos of tea, and grabs the sections of the paper she's already read. They usually sit in silence, although sometimes they make polite conversation about the weather.

Will leaves without much fanfare and waves goodbye as he walks out the door. More often than not, he turns to say goodbye and trips on the front porch step. Quinn holds in her unladylike snort until she's convinced he can't hear her laugh.

After Will leaves for work, whatever it is that is required by his job as an accountant, Quinn folds up his sheets and blankets on the couch and puts them away in the guest bedroom. They haven't had much of a chance to go looking for a cheap bedframe, even though it's already been three and a half weeks, so Will still sleeps on the couch despite Quinn's objections. She then usually wastes an hour or so tidying up the house, which is pointless because there are so few items in the house it's impossible to be cluttered.

Every few days she'll call Lindsey, or Lindsey will call her, and they'll keep in touch with each other. She enjoys their phone calls because Lindsey not only entertains her with stories about medical school, but also keeps her informed about the case to the best of her ability.

She goes for walks in the afternoons, but never too far from the house. She doesn't want to risk any unwanted attention, not so soon after their relocation. The island is small, but the people who live there keep their properties well-maintained, and a few of her neighbors have some lovely gardens. Occasionally, she ventures out to the downtown sector of her part of the island and takes pictures of the Stowelee version of a town square.

Sometimes she stays outside in a swimsuit and reads. There's a local library on the mainland and once a week she takes a ferry over there and takes out as many books as she can carry. She's usually done with them all by the end of the week. She's gone through the Bronte sisters, Fitzgerald, some Hemingway, and now she's working on Jane Austen.

Her evenings are spent eating dinner with Will. They don't speak often during the meal, but it's companionable all the same, and they usually end up watching an episode or two of Law & Order together before they call it a night.

Her nights, though, are full of tossing and turning in her bed, partially from the guilt of knowing that the couch couldn't be all that comfortable for Will and partially from her apparently newly developed insomnia. When Quinn finally does sleep, it's an uneasy dreamless one. She dreams often of potential scenarios in which she is caught by unnamed masked men and that she's staring down the barrel of a gun, only it gets bigger and bigger and she eventually falls into it and the blackness it contains, or that she's looking at the dead woman she saw and that the pool of blood increases until it's everywhere and Quinn is drowning, or something equally as horrible. She wakes in a cold sweat, heart pounding violently, limbs tangled in her sheets; often she is reaching outwards as if to hold on to something. On more than one occasion, she hears Will come in to check on her. She keeps her eyes closed and breathing even so that neither of them have to acknowledge her problem.

Eventually, her journeys around town and her days of tanning outside get boring. She needs more conversation than just a few words here and there with the neighbors in passing, or the cashiers at the grocery store. She needs more than just Lindsey's phone calls.

It takes her longer than it should to realize that maybe the person she should be talking to is Will.

After all, they live together. Despite whatever else they may need to pretend to be, as his roommate she should at least know things about him like what he's allergic to, and his office address, and, you know, his middle name would be nice.

She has no idea where to start. The critical period of developing their relationship seems to be drawing to a close and Quinn wonders if maybe it's too late to start talking. She's in the middle of an internal debate of how to break the silence at dinner that night when Will surprises her and speaks first.

"How was your day today, Quinn? I noticed you've been doing quite a bit of reading lately." His voice is soft and even, but Quinn still jumps, startled by the noise.

"Oh! It was alright. I didn't do much, just cleaned the bathroom." She feels guilty about telling Will that she's been bored out of her mind and literally just starting doing push-ups for lack of anything better to do. It's not his fault, after all. "How was your day? What do you do at your job?" she asks curiously.

Will seems to take a minute to think, and Quinn certainly does  _not_ watch the way his tongue pokes out to trace his bottom lip. "My day went well. It was routine, really. I don't mind the work, but there's a reason I became a teacher and not an accountant," he said. "Mostly I track expenses and earnings of our clients, budget their funds to keep their lives running smoothly. Not anything too crazy."

Quinn tries to wrap her mind around the details of his job, but being so unfamiliar with accounting and financial matters she gives up and just gives a friendly smile instead. "Do you… get along with your coworkers?" she asks, feeling foolish. The words coming out of her mouth feel clumsy and arbitrary, and Quinn feels a twinge of shame for not having asked about his work sooner. For one thing, if they are to be a believable married couple, she should know about his friends and colleagues. For another, it is of no use to continue living separate lives. They are living together – they are in this together, and part of that includes being a source of companionship and support.

She is momentarily stunned by her own realization that he really is going to be a major figure in her life for the conceivable future. Quinn may not have chosen this situation for herself, but it could have been a whole lot worse, and she is going to make the most of it.

"Oh! I mean, I guess so," Will replies with a small shrug. "It's a pretty big firm, kind of competitive. Most of the people in my department get along, but some of the other departments can cop an attitude."

"Sounds like high school, with all those social groups," Quinn says with a wry smile. Will looks up at her, surprised by her comment. He laughs, realizing she is right.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he says, eating another forkful of dinner. The tension that has been looming over them for weeks seems to have lifted just the slightest bit, and they continue eating dinner, making small talk about his job. Quinn asks questions now and then, and finds his story about Smith two offices over and his affair with his secretary amusing and scandalous.

"You  _heard_ them together?" she asks, shocked. "Are you  _sure_?"

Will rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face lets Quinn know he's not mocking her.

"It's pretty unmistakable," he says with a chuckle. Quinn blushes as a thought comes to her mind, completely unbidden, that he would probably know what it sounds like because of previous experience. She laughs weakly and looks down at her lap trying to hide the flush on her cheeks.

The moment passes and they continue to talk about other mundane topics, like the weather and movies that are due to premiere soon. Will suggests going to see one, to get out of the house, he says, and Quinn practically jumps out of her chair in excitement. They do the dishes together in companionable silence and after, Quinn almost asks him if he'd like to go on a walk with her. Almost. Despite how well the conversation flowed tonight, it still feels too forward to ask him for anything. She is all too aware that Will was only spending time with her because they were stuck together, and she doesn't want to monopolize his time, or burden him. It's a relief to break the ice, but Quinn isn't naïve enough to think that they would become best friends just because fate had thrown them together.

She opts out of watching television that night and goes to bed early, claiming a migraine. Will tries to be accommodating but she shrugs off his attempts and curls up in bed, feeling horribly guilty for dragging him into this entire situation. It only gets worse when Quinn is awoken in the middle of the night by a shout, and it soon becomes clear that Will is having a nightmare of his own.

The next day there's still a little awkwardness between them as they go through their morning routine, but that's to be expected. Quinn looks through the newspaper for job opportunities and considers the morning a success when Will calls. She panics, because he has never called her before, and she's horribly afraid that there's been an emergency.

"Jack, what's wrong?" Quinn asks in a rush as soon as she answers the phone.

"Alyssa, er, there's sort of a problem at work," he starts, and in her mind's eye she can see him leaning back in his chair, his hand at the back of his neck, rubbing it uncomfortably. "See, there's this dinner coming up that I just found out about today, and I'm required to go. And they asked me to bring you along, since we're, you know, married and all."

Quinn lets out a breath and almost laughs out of sheer relief. "That's all?" she asks, sounding much more relaxed. "That's not a problem. I certainly don't mind."

"I should warn you that it's probably an overnight ordeal and we'll have to get a hotel and everything."

Oh.  _Oh._  Now she knows why he sounded so awkward. But it's still a chance to get off the island and do something different, and Quinn decides that she might as well take it.

"It's fine, we'll go," she assures him, and as they make plans for the weekend and decide they need to get clothes for the occasion, Quinn feels a tiny thrill of excitement. Something new and different indeed.


End file.
